Ends and Beginnings
by MorriganLaFey
Summary: "And what is your end for tonight, Astoria?" she asked, licking her lips, whilst glancing at hers. "I'm not quite sure," Astoria began, slowly, leaning in, "Either way I know, Ms Granger, that you'll get a solid O out of me." Hermione didn't know what she expected Astoria Greengrass - pureblood princess - to be like, but it wasn't this. (M to be safe)
1. Girl like you, Place like this

Astoria Greengrass was not, despite her appearances, a good girl.

That was the observation Hermione made after a night of drinking with the pretty blonde sitting next to her. She'd thought that a muggle bar would be, by all accounts, the very last place she'd see anyone she'd know and had counted on spending the night drowning her frustrations in the cheapest, strongest drinks this hole had to offer.

What she hadn't counted on was _her_.

 _She'_ d come up behind her, close enough that Hermione could feel her warmth emanating on her back and had asked in a breathy, raspy voice that had made her cheeks tingle, "Is this seat taken, Granger?"

Against her better judgement (which was somewhat drowned out by the whiskey) Hermione had gestured toward the stool next to hers with nothing more than a twitch of the lips. Astoria's smirk melted into a grin, as she bounced down and eagerly called for a drink from the bartender.

It was by Hermione's fourth and Astoria's second and a half that they even spoke. Astoria had been content to sit in silence, only occasionally humming when the liquid would go down her throat and sending Hermione a coy smirk or wink whenever she'd catch her staring. If she'd noticed the way the brunette nearly vibrated with curiosity, she hadn't given any sign.

"What are you doing _here_?" she'd finally asked, and she could swear she saw Astoria smile behind her glass.

"Funnily enough, I'd ask you the same question. Not exactly your scene, all this." she gestured around the bar with her glass, and then explained, "You may not believe this, but I'm quite the party girl. Unfortunately, the parties I'm _expected_ to go to are almost unbearably boring and are less about fun than they are about politics. I'd much rather soothe a headache that was brought on by alcohol than one given to me by arrogant arseholes who speak in riddles. I like muggle London. It's, well — it's liberating, you know?"

That was not the answer Hermione had been expecting. She momentarily narrowed her eyes at the girl in suspicion but the giggles she got in response made her realise how ridiculous she was being and relaxed.

"And, well, let's just say it's a lot less trouble to snog your sort than it is mine."

" _Snog_?"

Astoria pursed her lips, as if thinking over her next sentence, before cautiously murmuring into Hermione's ear, "It usually doesn't stop at snogging, of course, but it typically does start there."

Hermione felt her eyes about to pop out of her head, as she tried to reconcile everything she knew about Astoria Greengrass — which was, admittedly, very little — with the brazen witch in front of her. She tried to recall what Astoria was like at Hogwarts, but all she got was a blurry image of a little girl who'd run down the halls with her green and silver tie around her head, an untucked shirt and muddy shoes.

And after Hogwarts there was —

Well. There was the battle. _That_ image of Astoria was a lot clearer, she'd been one of the dozen or two Slytherins that had joined Slughorn in defending the Castle against Voldemort, and she'd done a bloody good job. It had been hard not to notice her, she'd looked like an avenging angel clad in green, her blonde hair held back tightly and her grey eyes so intense they'd seemed to glow.

She remembered having those eyes locked onto hers in the heat of the battle — she'd turned for a second, had been trying to find a glimpse of red hair or green eyes after losing track of them whilst fighting one of the endless Death Eaters, and had heard the beginning of an _Avada_ behind her back, cut off by a shrieked _Stupefy_ — she'd turned, shocked and felt her heart skip a beat in the way only a person who'd missed death very closely felt (a feeling she'd become well acquainted with after that past year) and they had stared at each other, both of their chest heaving with the force of their breaths.

"Why are _you_ here?"

Hermione blinked, brought out of her thoughts. "Pardon?"

"Well, I told you mine. Your turn."

She tipped back her glass before answering, "I got into an argument — more of a fight, really — with Ron." Astoria gestured for her to continue. "He was being a git. Caught me in a compromising position with someone else and accused me of cheating."

Astoria's brows furrowed, "You were dating?"

"That's the thing," sighed Hermione, "We'd both been interested for a while before the battle, and then that all culminated in a kiss in the heat of the moment." She paused, before adding bitterly, "But that was _months_ ago. He's spent all this time with his tongue down the throats of any willing witch and, once when he got absolutely hammered, a wizard — which, you know, was bloody insensitive of him — not the wizard part, the snogging in general — but I got over it. He didn't want to be with me like that, and so I thought I'd move on. Last week we're in some club, the both of us and Harry, and I kiss this wi — well, I kiss them and he has the gall to act _betrayed!"_

Hermione's tongue got looser with each drink the two girls were served— and she was already pretty chatty whilst sober — to the point that she simply continued, rambling and gesticulating wildly, going on about how _I never even commented when the brainless twit whored around_ and that _it's not like anyone other than me had really ever fancied him, honestly, he was always rather oddly gangly_ and did Astoria know that _according to Lavender, the twit can barely manage to lift it up, honestly, no surprise when his head is so far up his —_ it was at this point that Astoria, who'd been nodding along and listening, sucked on her teeth and pushed for Hermione to maybe drink some water.

"Betcha his prick's just as ginger as his bloody nose, and probably smaller too." hissed Hermione, downing the water, "It's not like I care about him, missed a fucking _Avada_ with that one, I did, maybe if he'd had more than two brain cells to rub together he'd realise how _fucking_ hypocritical he's being, honestly, men and their bloody double standards — no, I don't want more water, thank you — he's allowed to shag any bloody chit he likes but I snog _one_ witch and I'm suddenly a slag!" Astoria's skin had flushed prettily with the amount of strength needed to restrain herself from laughing, but her eyes widened momentarily at the admission.

She'd snogged a _witch_.

 _That_ , thought Astoria, _is certainly promising for me_.

. . . . . . . . .

"Thank you." murmured Hermione, later, clutching her head.

Astoria snorted, in a manner so un-ladylike it seemed somehow _wrong_ coming from her. "For what, the sobering charm? Trust me, it was most certainly for wholly selfish reasons. You'd begun to describe what certain parts hypothetically looked like, and I don't care much for Weasley's penis, wether it's metaphorical or not." Hermione laughed, and then winced at her headache.

"No, I mean _thank you_. For, well, saving my life."

There was a pregnant pause, during which Astoria was gently running her fingers through Hermione's wild hair, her thin fingers gently massaging at her scalp. "You shouldn't have to thank me for that," she whispered, marvelling at both those wild curls and the way Hermione's eyelids fluttered at the contact. "What kind of person would I be if I hadn't?"

"Why'd you come to the battle, anyway?" grumbled Hermione, her brown eyes meeting Astoria's grey ones, quickly flicking around as if the answer to her question was etched on her pretty, doll-like face.

She shrugged in response, slightly uncomfortable with her scrutiny, "I wanted to, I suppose. You don't know me well, but I'm known as a bit of reckless rebel among the pureblood society. My mother would have me dressed in white lace for some gala and by the end of the day I was covered in grass stains and had discarded my shoes. I did what I wanted, I'd always had to get my way, and a world with — _him_ in charge," Astoria swallowed at the thought, knuckles whitening, before smirking at Hermione, "Wouldn't be able to sneak out and party with muggles, now would I?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, a bit confused, before Astoria clarified, "I value freedom, more than anything. The ability to make my own choices. If I could barely stand a week at Hogwarts without getting a detention, then I certainly would not have thrived under You-Know-Who's regime. I won't say I fought only for myself, it was a win/win situation. Either I'd die in battle and be spared from a bleak future, or your lot — mine too, now — would win and I get to continue being the type of girl that old dames clutch their pearls whilst gossiping about."

"I suppose that's good for me," added Hermione, in a teasing tone. "A self-serving Slytherin though, how original."

"We cunning folk use any means to achieve our ends." agreed Astoria.

"And what _is_ your end for tonight, Astoria?" she asked, licking her lips, whilst glancing at hers.

She seemed to mull over that, letting her eyes wander, "I'm not quite sure," she began, slowly, leaning in, "It's either having those pretty heels of yours up around my ears, or maybe that bushy head between my thighs?"

Hermione's reaction had been somewhat delayed, and Astoria was momentarily stricken with the thought she'd might have been too forward, or maybe had willed herself to think her attraction was mutual, but then Hermione's face flushed — she'd nearly missed it, as Hermione's skin was such a lovely dark shade — and then she seemed to lean forward towards Astoria.

"Well," whispered Hermione, "I've always been rather good with finding answers."

"I do remember you being quite the researcher back at Hogwarts." agreed Astoria, letting her eyes wander to that pretty mouth she'd been eyeing all evening.

"I'm quite good at hands-on work, too."

"I'll be the judge of that," started Astoria, standing up. She turned back to Hermione and held out a hand, "Though I'm sure, _Ms Granger_ , that you'll get a solid O out of me."


	2. Harry's horrible, no good, very bad day

It felt as if all the air in the room were thicker — certainly when Harry tried to breathe — with the tension. Not quite tension, really, more like a certain awkwardness, but he still felt the silence was like a rubber band stretched so far it was about to snap.

His green eyes shifted back and forth between his two best friends, both of which were ignoring each other rather forcefully. On the one side, sat Hermione, clad in a plain navy jumper, an old jean skirt, and, oddly, leather boots with very, _very_ high heels.

He'd never thought Hermione was the type to wear heels, but he supposed that was hardly the thing to be taken aback by, all things considering.

Her back was straight and rigid in a way that certainly did not seem comfortable, her legs crossed, and she held her cup of tea tightly, as if at any moment she'd need to use it as a weapon. Part of it, he supposed, was the war. The other part was likely her irritation at the ginger on the sofa next to the ornate chair she was on.

Whereas Hermione looked as if she were sculpted from stone, Ron was taking a different approach to the situation and seemed to be trying to melt into the cushions, as if he couldn't be bothered to sit up straight.

Internally, Harry couldn't help but think it was for the best they'd never gotten together, at least not officially. If this is how they acted when they weren't dating, they — or more importantly, Harry himself — might not survive actually being involved.

With a sigh, he decided perhaps this (whatever the hell this was) would be less volatile if he started the conversation. "So, uh, Hermione. Haven't seen you around in a while." He hadn't seen her for two weeks. Not a worrying period of time, but still odd considering the three of them lived together.

She shrugged in reply, taking a sip of her (now likely cold) tea, and stated icily, "Stayed with a friend." At that, Ron made an ugly sound, an amalgamation of a laugh, snort and a gag. She narrowed her eyes, but continued glaring at the horrid curtains behind Harry's head.

"Who?" asked Harry, fingers itching to rub the bridge of his nose. He felt the beginnings of a headache form, and he began to wonder if _all_ his migraines could be attributed to Voldemort or if perhaps Ron and Hermione's endless feuds played a part.

"You wouldn't know them."

Ron made that noise again. "You don't _have_ any other friends."

In response, Hermione's eyes somehow managed to narrow further, and she wore an expression that Harry was smart enough to realize he did not want directed at him. She'd done many things wearing that expression. She'd put Rita Skeeter in a jar wearing that expression. She'd sent Umbridge to the centaurs wearing that expression. She'd worn that expression when she asked out Cormac out to the Slug Club party, simply because it would hurt Ron.

"Actually, maybe you do know them. Or, more accurately, _her_. Astoria Greengrass, remember? The leggy blonde in Ginny's year, quite popular, not to mention _rich_ and _smart_. She was featured in that story the Prophet published, the one about Slytherins on the right side of the war." said Hermione, idly, examining her nails. "I ran into her at a muggle bar, of all places. She'd saved me during the Battle, actually, and well, I wanted to make sure she knew just how _grateful_ I was."

Ron turned an ugly shade of purple, and Harry felt his face flush at her implications.

"So you, uh, spent two weeks with her?" asked Harry, nearly squeaking. Hermione sipped her tea, before giving him a toothy grin.

"I was _very_ grateful."

And Ron Weasley exploded.

. . . . . . . .

The both of them were still going at it, shrieking at each other while Hermione waved her wand and levitated her possessions into her beaded bag. Harry gave up on calming them down a half hour ago, deciding that perhaps in this case he didn't have to be a hero and really, he'd much rather drink some camomile tea. He'd been seeing a therapist lately, one who happened to be involved with a wizard and thus could handle the more delicate details of his life. Apparently, business had been going great for the man ever since he'd extended his practice to the magical world.

"I think a respite from all things stressful will do you good," he'd said, jotting things rapidly into his little notebook, "Maybe sit at home, drink some tea. Avoid taxing interactions."

That's what Harry was doing now, avoiding the taxing interaction that were his friends. Part of him felt as if he were a child in the midst of the argument that would lead to his parents' divorce, but he decided not to psychoanalyse that emotion and instead poured himself another cup of tea. He glanced at the bottle of firewhiskey next to the kitchen sink and thought, well, maybe he could have his tea the Irish way, but before he could pursue that train of thought he heard someone come in through the floo.

"Hey Potter," Astoria nodded at him, strutting in. "How've you been?"

Harry blinked at her, before groaning into his tea. "I need a vacation."

The girl laughed, brushing soot off of her leather jacket. "Granger told me to come here, said something about how she needed to find a new place to live and if I'd help?" Harry snorted at that, taking a sip of camomile, "She got into a row with Ron and now she wants to show you off. Rub you in his face and all that."

He noticed how her grin seemed to deflate a bit at that, "Shit, that sounds bad. It's not — you aren't a rebound, y'know? I mean, I think she likes you, a lot. She certainly wouldn't spend half a month with you just to piss off Ron. It's just a — a bonus, I guess?" Harry groaned again, running his hands through his messy hair. "Fuck, don't listen to me. I've got a huge headache right now, and those two aren't helping matters at all."

Astoria shook her head, shaking off her jacket to wrap it around her waist before falling into a wooden chair. "Make me a cup, will you?" demanded Astoria, jumping when Harry, too tired to move, called for Kreacher.

"You have an elf? What the fuck?" Astoria looked at the wrinkly little thing, who looked up at her with clear contempt on his face.

"Missus should not use such language around Master Potter," he huffed, getting her a chipped cup and saucer. "Missus also should not have her feet on the table." Astoria snickered, but put her feet down, mockingly thanking him for the tea. He left the room, grumbling about leather jackets and how they were an indication of bad character.

They sat in relative silence for a while, intermittently disrupted by the distanced shriek of either Ron or Hermione. Half way through Hermione's rant about how Ron was _a giant hypocritical man child_ and how _honestly, no tact, there is nothing going for you, Ronald, your fucking jumper doesn't even match your fucking hair_ Harry decided to just use a silencing charm.

"So, uh. You think she likes me?" Harry looked up at Astoria, who was trying to mask how invested she was in that question by looking down at her cup and twirling the little spoon.

He supposed he could see the appeal. Astoria was what people called "classically beautiful", honey blonde hair, pale grey eyes with flecks of green and blue, and the faintest smattering of freckles. From what he'd seen so far, she was fun. Hermione needed fun. She needed to let go, sometimes, and Harry had thought Ron would help her do just that, but evidently they were too different.

Astoria however —

Well.

"What did you guys do during your time together?"

Astoria blushed, but quickly gave him a smug smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?" At his straight face, she coughed. "After the first night, we talked. A lot, actually. About all sorts of things, the war, past relationships, what kind of food we like, muggle literature — she was actually surprised I knew muggle literature, but my parents always cared more about being cultured and classy than blood purity and we don't do literature as well as muggles do — and, well. We went to the movies. We went to clubs. I even convinced her to swim in a fountain with me, where she did this great little thing with her —" Harry shook his head at that, nearly choking on his tea.

"Right, well. That was sort of all we did. I'd drag her out to do fun things, or we'd just sit and do nothing. It was fun, and easy. I guess after a night of rowdy, crazy sex anything goes." shrugged Astoria, her lips twitching at the recollection.

"That was a bit too much information" huffed Harry. "But I don't think Hermione's done anything like that — ever. She only ever broke the rules when we had to — she liked it, mind you, it was a bit of a rush for her — but she never really let go. She's insecure underneath all that confidence, but she doesn't let people see that side of her."

The charm must have worn off, then, because they heard heels clicking on the creaky floor.

"I think," said Harry. "That after this bout of impulsiveness, she will be terrified of how fast you two have gotten close. Be patient."

"Astoria," gasped Hermione, her face splitting into a wide grin, "You're here, wonderful!"

"I'm not done, 'Mione —" called a voice behind her.

Hermione then pulled Astoria out of her chair, and kissed her firmly. She heard a frustrated howl behind her, followed by the pop of apparition.

"Tell me, Harry, did he turn purple this time or red?" asked Hermione, leaning her head on Astoria shoulder.

Harry looked at the bottle of whiskey longingly, "Neither. He turned green."


	3. In Which Flowers Speak

The sun was making its way through the light curtains of her room — _their_ room now, she supposed, not that Hermione would ever think of it that way — and Astoria enjoyed the few seconds before her bedmate awoke, enjoyed her unobstructed view, tangling her long fingers in Hermione's crazy hair.

The flat was quiet enough that a pin could drop and echo, but Astoria had a newfound appreciation for silence. It was pleasant to just sit back and rest every once in a while. Hermione could sometimes grow just as restless as Astoria without something to occupy her, but she lost herself in books like no one Astoria knew, so deeply it was like her mind had port-keyed into the story, and she grew moody when interrupted. Astoria had needed to adapt to silence, but then she'd always been flexible.

After that incident with Weasley (in which Hermione had practically dropped herself into Astoria's lap) a rift had formed between the former friends, one that the both of them were to stubborn to fix. That was fine, however, since the less time Hermione spent around Ron, the less her mind was occupied by him. And that left it open to be occupied by much more pleasant things. They'd filled their time with wild spur of the moment trips to fun attractions around the UK, trips to the wilder clubs and even wilder bars, and lazy afternoons simply laying in the sun, far too spent to bother moving.

Glancing at the digital clock by their bed, Astoria cursed, getting out of bed and pulling on a long soccer jersey. It was already ten, and Astoria had been meaning to go to Diagon Alley with Hermione for the first time as a couple today.

She rushed into the kitchen, skidding on the polished floor, and quickly summoned some pancake batter, eggs and milk.

 _Potter was right,_ thought Astoria, _Hermione's "bout of impulsiveness" is on the cusp of ending, and if I don't do this right, so is our relationship._

She mixed the batter, attempted to extract the few bits of shell that had gotten in, before simply using a spell. Admittedly, Astoria sucked at cooking. Most pureblood children did — except Blaise Zabini, who inexplicably excelled at the culinary arts — because they'd never really had to cook. They'd had three elves back at Greengrass manor, and Astoria's own mother had never so much as touched a cookbook in her life. Certainly Daphne, with her manicured nails and impeccably clean clothes, would never lower herself to what she deemed "a servant's job".

Astoria however, in all her childish need to piss off her parents and all those they associated with as much as she could, had embraced all things they frown upon. She'd taken to motorcycles immediately — had nearly drooled when she saw the one Sirius Black had left for Potter — and she loved the neon "t-shirts" and the elastic chokers, even technology had been easy enough to get used to, but cooking continued to elude her.

"For fuck's sake, how could I mess this up?" she muttered under her breath, throwing another pancake onto the plate, where it joined its either overcooked or undercooked brethren.

She added a cup of pumpkin juice and poured a generous amount of syrup onto the plate — mostly to mask the taste — and then transfigured several eating utensils into flowers.

Balancing everything atop a silver tray, Astoria twirled a gardenia between her fingers, "Wish me luck," she murmured into the petals.

. . . . . . . . .

The pancakes left a somewhat bitter taste in Hermione's mouth, as did the thought that she hadn't gotten to brush her teeth properly, but it was nothing the almost excessive amount of syrup and sugary pumpkin juice couldn't fix. Astoria had even gone back into the kitchen to get some strawberries that she now attempted to feed to a giggling Hermione.

"What's brought this on?" she asked, wiping away the strawberry's juices from her chin. Astoria blinked, momentarily distracted, before shrugging. She glanced at the vase of flowers she'd brought in and placed inconspicuously on the bedside table closest to Hermione.

The witch followed her stare and nearly coughed up her food. Purple lilacs, purple violets, tulips and gardenias. Astoria Greengrass seemingly enjoyed being obnoxiously subtle, if that made sense.

She was currently playing with a gardenia nervously, pulling out petal after petal, "I was thinking we could go to Diagon Alley today, maybe for an ice cream or something. Like a date."

"In Diagon Alley?" asked Hermione, eyes still on the gardenia. _Secret love, joy, good luck._

Astoria's fingers paused on a petal, "I've been craving Fortescue's."

"I — it's fine, I suppose. There'll be reporters there, though, and there's already rumours that we're living together —"/

"We are," cut in Astoria, clearing her throat. "Living together. And I don't mind the reporters." _Joy._

Hermione picked up her cup of pumpkin juice. Astoria's face was neutral at the moment, and her tone was casual, but there was an edge behind them. Part of Hermione was screaming at her, telling her that this situation was meant to be temporary and that this was incredibly fast and that _there were tulips, for fuck's sake, tulips!_

"Do _you_ mind them?" asked Astoria, her grey eyes wide and glued on Hermione's. It was a question that held so much more weight. A brief moment in which she could see the vulnerability in the younger girl, something that either of them obviously didn't show to many people. _Do I mind them? Am I ready for people to know, am I ready for this to be something_ more _than whatever it is right now?_ She internally shook her head, _You're overthinking this. What's it matter? You like her. Don't let your fear ruin this_. The gardenia petals now scattered on their bed seemed to be the only sign of Astoria's bated worry. _Good luck._

"No," whispered Hermione. "I don't mind them at all."

Astoria's face split into a smile.

 _People won't even care_ , thought Hermione. _You're exaggerating._

. . . . . . . . .

People cared. People twisted their heads to look back like owls, they followed them as subtly as they could, whispering all the while. Hissing, really, and Hermione felt as if she stuck in a snake pit.

Astoria persevered through the attention, likely used to it by now. "So Fortescue's, right? I'm thinking something exuberant — maybe witch's brew with every topping they have?" Hermione swallowed, but tried to match her partner's excitement, "Isn't that one of the alcoholic options? It's got rum in it, right?"

"I certainly hope so," she laughed, seemingly at ease. "You should get it too, you're very tense." She squeezed Hermione's hand, and leaned in to whisper, "Don't mind anyone else, they don't matter right now. _We_ do."

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and nodded.

Nobody outright stopped when they entered, but the proceedings in the shop slowed, and people were exchanging glances to make sure this was real. Astoria brought Hermione knuckles to her lips, kissing them, and one of the older patrons gasped. Hermione ignored them, and smiled at Astoria. She heard the flash of a camera, but it didn't matter.

What mattered was that they both needed to find where they stood after weeks of a whirlwind affair, and this — going public — was a sign of mutual commitment. Before they left, Astoria placed a charmed purple violet into Hermione's hair with a nervous smile, one that the other girl returned.

They exited the shop hand in hand, Hermione holding a simple chocolate covered cone with a single scoop of blueberry topped with hot fudge, and Astoria clutching a large cup with two scoops of witch's brew covered in a mountain of toppings. On their way out, they noticed a reporter speed walking towards them, pen poised over a notebook and a camera around their neck.

"Hyde Park?" asked Astoria.

Hermione hesitated, "I thought you _wanted_ to go public —"

"Baby steps," she cut in, grabbing her wand and charming both of their ice creams to withstand apparition, "Besides, we got what we came here for."

. . . . . . . . .

They sat on the grass, later, under the sun, sharing their ice cream and chatting about nothing in particular. Hermione glanced at Astoria, who's hair glittered like gold under the sun and reached up into her own to dig out the violet. She twirled it once, twice, watching the petals change their form. It was a violet no more, now, and she smiled as she turned to Astoria, placing the flower in the other girl's hand.

Astoria looked at the offered flower, brows furrowed, "Ambrosia?" She looked up sharply, eyes wide, "Does this mean —"

Hermione cut her off with a kiss, passionate at first, but then slow, gentle and soft and tender, enjoying the sweet taste of ice cream on their tongues.

"I think," murmured Hermione. "I might become less of a temporary guest in your lovely flat, and more of a permanent one."

She was leaning over Hermione, holding her face gently and running her thumb across her moist lips.

"If you'll have me, of course."

Astoria leaned down, kissing her again. _Silly Granger_ , she thought, _I'll always have you_.

 _A/N - The flowers mentioned are all meant to symbolize something, the purple violet is love between two women, purple lilacs symbolize the first emotion of love, gardenias for secret love, joy and good luck, tulips for true love, and ambrosia for returned love. Astoria places these flowers to show Hermione how she feels, since neither of them are too comfortable with being upfront with their emotions, and asks the gardenia for luck because she was about to take a risk. Either Hermione would agree to take their relationship to the next level, or not. The violet she placed in her hair in the shop was a bit like staking claim, confirming people's suspicions that they were together. When Hermione turns the violet into ambrosia, it was a symbol of her returning Astoria feelings. This chapter has been a bit more fluffy than what I usually like, but I hope you all enjoy it. I've started a Dramione fanfic as well, called Deserters, that is a bit more serious in tone than this, but I urge you to read it as well. Reviews motivate me to write faster, and I'd love to hear any feedback._


	4. A Closer Look At Tuesday

There was not much which would leave Daphne Greengrass surprised. She'd not been taken aback when Astoria had run off to fight against the Dark Lord at the final battle, she'd barely batted an eye when Harry Potter had defeated said Dark Lord, and even when Theodore Nott had proposed to her, she'd avoided the tears and shrieks and simply smiled in reply.

It was a Tuesday morning, and the owl had just delivered the morning paper. Daphne, in her green silk robe hanging off of one shoulder, sat up and flipped through the paper with her long, manicured fingers. Beside her, Theodore awoke and began peppering kisses on her shoulders and her neck, but she sat unresponsive other than the occasional hum of approval, though one couldn't quite tell wether that was towards him or the news.

She picked up a cup of tea that sat on a caddy near the bed, and took a sip before turning the page and spitting it out. Her willowy body was wracked with wicked coughing and her gently tousled hair shook from her tremors. Theo tried to pat her back but she waved him off, hacking violently.

"What is — _this?''_ she howled, pointing at a photo of her baby sister kissing the knuckles of one Hermione Granger.

"Nothing to be concerned about, I'm sure," murmured Theo, trying to appease his fiancé. He leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek but she stood up suddenly and he lost his balance, his lips meeting the mattress.

"This," started Daphne, her voice dangerously quiet, "Is not _nothing_ , Theodore. I've always accepted that Astoria was a bit of an eccentric spirit but —"

"The war is over Daphne. Muggleborns and blood traitors are in, you know. Even Blaise has broadened his horizons. Besides, Astoria managed to make herself a hero in the public's eye; she's entitled to a bit of fun," he offered, but Daphne kept on pacing restlessly.

"This is not a bit of fun. This is ... if my mother saw this," warned Daphne, "She'd kill her, and Granger, and me, and herself."

Theodore doubted that sweet Mrs. Greengrass, who'd gasp when anyone even mentioned the unforgivables would ever be able to kill anyone, but then he supposed Daphne must have gotten her personality from somewhere and it certainly wasn't from her father. "She's in France, love, she won't see it," he soothed, his smile straining when Daphne shook his hands off her shoulders.

"Oh yes she will," she murmured, grabbing an envelope and placing the article in it.

Theodore groaned at her antics, "I thought you didn't want her to know!"

"Astoria is a stubborn girl, if anyone can knock some sense into her it's my mother. To hell with the consequences," Daphne penned a quick message in flowery handwriting, sending it off with the owl. Once the bird was out of sight she sighed, satisfied that her work was done, and slipped off her robe. "I need to release some stress after that whole experience," she huffed, touching a spot on her cheek, "I'm certain that in ten years this morning will result in a wrinkle."

Theodore rolled his eyes, but he couldn't quite hide just how eager he was to release some stress.

. . . . . . . . .

"Have you seen this?" Harry looked at the paper that had just been thrown onto the table, before taking a giant gulp from his cup.

"Borgin and Burke's shop is being sold?" he enquired, confused. "Well, it's about time if you ask me. I don't see why you're taking it so personally, really."

Ron looked at the article he'd thrown down, "What? No — no, I mean — Just flip it over!"

Harry tried not to let any emotions show up on his face as he watched a picture of Astoria lift Hermione's hand to her lips, their eyes locked together. Only an idiot would miss the obvious chemistry between the two of them, how very much enchanted they were with one another.

Well, nobody had ever said Ron was _smart._

"They look like they're having a good time," said Harry, trying to ignore how his left eyelid seemed to twitch. He'd been twitching a lot lately.

"She's doing this on purpose, Harry."

"I'd imagine it's pretty hard to kiss someone's hand by accident when making direct eye contact with them, yes," murmured Harry, taking another sip from his cup. Jasmine, this time. Perhaps it'd be working better if his environment was just as relaxing.

"No, not _her —_ Hermione, she's doing this on purpose, to make me jealous or to get back at me or something. Joke's on her, though, shacking up with a Slytherin is gonna get her in trouble," said Ron, "I betcha she doesn't even know the significance of this little spectacle she just took part in."

His eyes lit up, all of a sudden.

"I should go visit her, try to make her see some sense," Ron enthused.

"You probably shouldn't, Ron," offered Harry half-heartedly, sipping his tea. Maybe next time he'd try and combine the camomile _with_ the jasmine, see if that made a difference. He eyed the new bottle of firewhiskey he'd gotten as a _just in case_. Maybe _that_ would make a difference.

"No, I'll — I'll get flowers, you know? She likes flowers, right?" asked Ron, "And I'll explain to her that I'm sorry and we'll talk about it, y'know, and she'll get over Greengrass."

Harry shook his head, "Your funeral," but Ron was already out the door.

The paper was still sitting on his table, and Harry flipped it over to the article on Borgin and Burke's. The shop was pretty cheap, and he knew that Knockturn Alley was being gentrified.

"I should open up a tea shop," he murmured, staring at his slightly chipped cup.

. . . . . . . . .

Hermione loved Tuesdays.

Tuesdays were lazy days, lacking the stress of Mondays but not quite as boring as Wednesdays. Tuesdays were for productivity and for reading during free time and for getting back into the routine of a work week.

Astoria hated Tuesdays.

She'd poke Hermione's cheek, whine about going out, and endlessly drudge about how bored she was. Tuesday's, according to Astoria, were worse than Mondays because one no longer had that extra energy a relaxing weekend provided and they were too far from Fridays. Hermione would mention that Wednesdays would be worse, according to that logic (as they, too, were too far from Fridays and even further from the previous weekend) but Astoria argued that Wednesdays were right before Thursdays, and Thursdays were ladies' nights.

Years later, when Astoria and Hermione would be sitting at a small dinner party with their couple friends in their French cottage, each of them with a glass of wine in hand and already two in their bellies, telling some stories from when they first got together, Astoria would make sure to interrupt Hermione twice to remind her that _it_ happened on a Tuesday.

That particular Tuesday, Hermione and Astoria had been in a deep, hung-over sleep.

They'd decided — or rather, Astoria decided — to go to a bar after the park. After the bar, they went to a club. After the club, another bar. Then, after getting kicked out of the bar and being banned for life, they went to another bar. In that bar, they met a lovely couple in the bathroom stall next to theirs while Astoria was busily trying to leave a record number of hickeys on Hermione's body. After the four of them were rather lazily kicked out of _that_ bar, with nothing more than a warning given to them with an eye roll, they decided to retire.

The next morning the two were in such a deep sleep, by the time they actually heard the knocking on the door it had escalated from light, polite tapping to borderline frantic bashing.

Hermione sprang up, immediately coughing out several strands of her hair and then gagging at the taste of her own mouth.

"Who the fuck is at the door?" groaned Astoria, barely lifting her head from the pillow on the floor. Somehow she'd ended up sleeping with her legs and hips on the bed but the rest of her body leaning off of it.

Hermione frowned, throwing one leg and then the other over the side of their bed and then shakily standing up, only to lose her balance and fall back down. Astoria huffed and laid her pillow over her ears, trying to ignore the way the pounding seemed to beat into her head.

Eventually, Hermione managed to get to the door, grabbing one of her robes off a hook, a simple garment that she slipped one arm and then the other through, before doing a quick spell that clicked every button into place.

"For Merlin's sake, I'm here! I'm bloody here," she shrieked, throwing the door open. Her mouth opened in shock, and then twisted in anger, "What the bloody hell, Ron!" Her hands turned into fists and she started hitting him in very much not contained irritation.

"Ow! Stop hitting me, stop!" she paused, and he ran a hand through his hair. "You alright, yeah? You look like shit." Hermione rolled her eyes, and went to grab the door to slam it in his face but Ron realized how badly this was going already and backtracked.

"I brought," he struggled to keep the door open and to enlarge the flowers he'd kept in his pocket, swearing when he realized he hadn't used a _Stasis_ charm and that the blossoms were missing more than a few petals, "Flowers, I brought flowers." He held them out to her.

She looked at them, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. "They're for you, you know. Picked them out myself, at the shop. The florist said I should go with roses but I said that these would do the trick." He gave her a boyish grin, the ones that used to make mouth go dry and her heart beat just a little faster, just a little louder. They did none of that now, simply reminded her of how difficult it was just to be friends with him, how much easier it was, now, with Astoria. It also reminded her how she needed a drink of water and a hangover potion.

"Yellow carnations?" she asked him. He looked confused.

"What?"

"The flowers, Ron. They're yellow carnations."

She saw that familiar look pass on his face. The one that used to make her want to shrink and hide. The look that told her she annoyed him, that she irritated him — and maybe that used to hurt her before, but she didn't care anymore. She'd moved on.

"So? They're pretty, that's what matters."

"I told you all the time, Ron, how much I loved the flower language," said Hermione, rubbing her itchy eyes. "When I was younger, my parents would always tell me how they used flowers to say the most important things to each other. My mother confessed her love to my father using red roses, my father asked her marry him with ivy, our house was always filled with tulips that displayed their love to each other, and to me. I'd tell you about it, because I used to dream that you'd do that for me. I thought that for once, you'd do some extra work for something that mattered to me and not once did you ever give me flowers."

Ron looked like he was about to say something, but she waved him off, "And _now_ , when I'm finally in a good place, you show up at my house — with _yellow carnations_ , of all things — as if you hadn't made that clear enough when you had your tongue down every witches' throat but could barely say more than two sentences to me. Not until you caught me doing the very same thing."

"That was a mistake," said Ron, his face stoic and his ears red, "I like you, Hermione."

"That's the thing, though," said Hermione, tiredly, "I don't care anymore. I did, I really did, and then at some point — with Astoria — I realized I didn't anymore."

"You know you can't trust her," muttered Ron, finally dropping the arm holding the carnations.

"Again with your crap about Slytherins, for fuck's sake Ron, get over it —"

"It's not that!" he yelled, before sighing, "You just — she's a pureblood, and that means certain things, especially since she's part of the sacred twenty-eight — not that I buy into any of that thestral shit, but there's certain … customs? Things that mean other things and that, the newspaper photo —"

"Weasley!" yelled Astoria, sneaking a hand around Hermione's waist, surprising Ron by her "So it was you making all that ruckus. Woke us up, you did. We were a bit worn out after last night," she winked at him, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "Lots of shagging, y'know."

"Astoria!" gasped Hermione, slapping her arm. "That's private," she hissed.

"Sorry, sorry, you know how I get the morning after a night out," shrugged Astoria.

"A night out — she's _changing_ you, Hermione. You'd never even liked going out with me and Harry!"

Hermione groaned, shaking Astoria's arm off and making her way to the kitchen, "I need a hangover potion."

"Got one out for you love, on the counter!" called Astoria, leaning on the doorframe and smirking at Ron. He tried to sneer back but it came out as more of a grimace. There was a bit of silence where Ron fidgeted and Astoria twirled a lock of hair around her finder.

"I know what you're doing, y'know," said Ron.

"Hmm? And what's that?"

"You're staking your claim. Does Hermione know that the ice cream date was basically a promise to get engaged? A very serious one since you let the media get involved."

Astoria straightened her back, her face blank, her tone icy, "Don't mess with things you don't understand, Weasley. You know what happens if our relationship falls apart? People will call _me_ a disgrace, not Hermione. Not that I care about what they say, anyway, because she's worth that risk. She's worth every risk. S'not my fault you didn't get your head out of your ass long enough to figure that out before."

Before Ron could retort, a loud shriek came from inside the flat. The two of them ran inside, the instincts they'd honed from the previous year fully in effect. Ron had brandished his wand and Astoria, having forgotten hers, grabbed a chair.

That was, however, completely unnecessary because a second later Hermione appeared from inside the bathroom, wholly unharmed if not somewhat frazzled.

"Why is there a partially nude couple sleeping in our bathtub?" she asked shrilly.

 _A/N - It has taken me far too long to update this, I know. I'd actually had half of it ready for months but school and things got in the way. On the bright side, I got early admissions into two universities! Back to the story, the yellow carnations typically have negative meanings, usually rejection. I also added the backstory for the use of flower symbolism, which will be a pretty significant part of Hermione and Astoria's relationship here on out. I'd love to hear any feedback, and the best way to contact me would be on my tumblr, maplesyrup4life (I am very Canadian). If you're following my other story, Deserters, know that ideally there will be an update in the next week. As always, reviews are great motivators!_


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